Half Agony, Half Hope
by Ana Sedai
Summary: Frederick Wentworth has opened his heart to Anne Elliot once more, only to discover that he has apparently now lost her to another. How was he ever going to let her go again? Persuasion story, inspired by the 2007 film from the BBC.
1. Chapter 1

**Half Agony, Half Hope**

**Author**: Ana Sedai

**Author's** **Note**: Okay, I can't take it anymore. I watched the BBC's 2007 version of _Persuasion_, and my lackadaisical muse decided to get off her lazy duff and inspire me. And I know from experience that it's best to let her have her way, lest I find myself waking up at three in the morning in answer to her irritated shrieks. I also know that there are several parts in the film that don't exactly correspond to the book, but what the heck. The look on Wentworth's face when Anne denied her engagement to Mr. Elliot was, in a word, heart-wrenching. Here's a short (kind of) version of the scene from his point of view, with a lot of backstory thrown in for good measure.

**Disclaimer**: I neither own nor am involved with any part of Jane Austen's estate or novels, though I would gladly accept a portion of her talent if it were offered. As it is, I've written this for fun and not profit, so I would appreciate it if no one would sue me. That is all.

**_________________________________________________________________________________**

He did not want to be here. He _most assuredly _did not want to be here. In fact, if asked, he would have said that he would prefer to be on deck in the middle of a hurricane at this particular moment. Or facing one of Bonaparte's flagships. Or facing one of Bonaparte's flagships whilst in the middle of a hurricane. He would, in fact, prefer to be _anywhere_ on Earth besides in front of Anne Elliot inquiring about the state of affairs (_God, what a word!_) between herself and Mr. Elliot.

"I am charged…that is to say the Admiral has been confidently informed that...Mr. Elliot –"

The words stuck in his throat, as if speaking them would confirm their reality. Anne was looking at him with an expression of complete puzzlement, eyebrows raised in encouragement for him to continue. Even in her confusion, her eyes still had that soft light inside them, the light that illuminated her intelligence, compassion, and gentle soul. He could easily drown in those eyes, and not mind his own passing.

________________________________________________________

The last three days had wrenched his composure to the breaking point. First he had thought that he had, thanks to his pride and wounded heart, managed to entangle himself into a loveless marriage with Louisa Musgrove, only to discover that God had seen fit to grace him with one final jolt of luck. Louisa had instead consented to marry Benwick. And so he was free, free to pursue Anne and, God willing, convince her to forgive his unconscionable boorishness over the last few months and let him court her properly. He had left for Bath that very day, plans and dreams whirling through his brain.

Their first meeting had been unexpected, but was still all he could have hoped for. She had been happy to see him there, at least. And she had laughed with him, as he had not seen her do in nearly nine years. God, he had missed her laugh! That was an encouraging sign, surely? He had been preparing himself to invite her to join him and his sister and the Admiral at the concert that night, wracking his brain for a graceful segue, when his fragile hopes suddenly seemed to hang by a thread after the arrival of Mr. Elliot. He could have laughed at the irony, had his heart not felt like it was somewhere in the vicinity of his toes. To have discovered that she had remained unmarried after eight years, eight years during which he had convinced himself, almost, that he couldn't care less if she married the Prince Regent or the local dairy farmer, only to find that now, when he had finally put away his pride and resentment and let his never-quite-defeated love for her run free in his soul, that he had a rival for her affections. It was, in short, horribly ironic.

Even worse, this was a _suitable_ rival, one that her family, and even more importantly Lady Russell, would approve of. If he could have banged his head into the nearest wall without distressing Anne, he would have. As it was, all he could do was to let her go with the preening shark, who obviously smelled blood in the water. Fortunately Anne had hesitatingly asked him to attend the concert that evening, and though he regretted losing his chance to ask her himself, he decided that he could at least be in the same room with her, and perhaps keep an eye on the popinjay sniffing around her skirts. He barely suppressed his glare as Elliot and Anne stepped out the door and into the muddy streets.

_Jealousy is most unbecoming in a naval officer, Wentworth._ He could almost hear his brother-in-law's voice in his head, and though he agreed with him in principle, he decided that there were exceptions to every rule.

The evening itself had actually started out rather well. Anne was the only member of her family who acknowledged him, but given that the majority of the Elliot clan was a vain, self-centered, and hopeless group of nitwits, he did not mind one bit. She had looked up at him with such hope in her eyes, as though he were some gift that she had asked for and never expected to receive. Frederick was not used to tripping over his tongue (that sort of behavior being even more unbecoming in a naval officer than jealousy), but what was he supposed to have said when she asked him how long he was staying in Bath?

_Well, Miss Elliot, it all depends on when and whether you decide to put me out of my misery, so I really could not say at the moment._

No, that simply wouldn't do. And so he vacillated, probably coming across as a tongue-tied twit, until her officious father and sister all but tripped over themselves (and Anne) to escort Lady Dalrymple and, of all people, Mr. Elliot to the concert room. Elliot of course didn't spare him one glance, though Anne looked back at him with worried eyes as she was steered towards her seat in the front. Frederick couldn't decide if the worry was for him or for herself, but he could still see his chance slipping away before his eyes. Bath was the central hub for gossip in the country, and he had heard more than one rumor regarding Anne and Mr. Elliot throughout the afternoon. He'd tried not to credit any of them, but as he sat, glowering at the usurper who was trying to command Anne's attention, the murmured comments of Sophia and Admiral Croft reached his ears.

"…soon be another marriage in that family, if I'm any judge."

"Certainly, if the rumors are to be believed."

And suddenly, he just couldn't take any more. When his own eyes, his sister's ears, and half the city's tongues, had come to the same conclusion, what else was there to say? He had left his seat, ignoring Sophie's curious look, and barely managed to refrain from banging the doors open in angry frustration. So this, then, was how it would all end. He felt like screaming. Or maybe punching Elliot. Or himself. He was almost to the courtyard when he heard…

"Captain?"

She had followed him. He had to speak to her, if only for a minute more. He turned to face the most beloved person in his world. She looked a trifle out of breath, almost frantic. Her words were desperate, and her eyes, her whole being, all but begged him to stay. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to agree, but the arrival of her shadow, Mr. Elliot, precluded any lingering hopes in that regard. He could have asked for her forgiveness, but not her heart. That was now lost to him.

"There's nothing here worth me staying for."

With that, he turned and left, hoping to forget the last expression he had seen on her face, that of desolation.

He had already been in bed when Sophie and the Admiral returned from the concert. He knew he would need to answer some very pointed questions from his sister in the morning, but right then he had simply wanted to nurse his wounds. There was no avoiding it. He had lost her. Again. Except this time, he had only himself to blame. After all his coldness and cruelty over the last several months, all his lapses in judgment and prideful posturing, the only thing he had to show for it all was the knowledge that she would at least be well cared-for. That had been something, at any rate, and he had to content himself with it. As for himself, there was nothing left for him here. He would leave early the next afternoon, and with any luck would be back in Portsmouth within three days. The _Laconia _was scheduled for dry dock for the next several months, but surely there was some berth he could ship out in. He would sign on as a mate if he had to, anything to escape England. And he would make it his personal mission in life to see that the only time he would ever set foot in the country again would be when he needed to report to the Admiralty.

With these sorrowful, but determined, thoughts, Wentworth fell into an uneasy sleep.

This morning had indeed been a trial, though not quite in the way he'd expected. Sophie remained asleep when Frederick was at breakfast, so he was spared an inquisition. However, Admiral Croft had charged him with a mission, and had Frederick not had the utmost respect and affection for the man, he would have refused before the first ten words were out of his mouth.

"Wentworth, I need a favor. It is in regards to Miss Anne Elliot…"

__________________________________________________________________

And that was how he found himself, yet again, facing the woman who could rip his heart to pieces with a word. As he stood there, he was barely able to look at her for fear of her being able to see his agony, or worse, falling to his knees and begging her to take him back. Still, he managed to force out the rest of his message, praying that he could endure this for just a few moments longer.

"…that everything is settled now in your family for a union between yourself and Mr. Elliot."

If he had thought she looked puzzled before, now she simply looked shocked. Had she really no idea as to the amount of talk she was engendering? But that was Anne, content to fade into the background rather than be put on center stage. Her unassuming nature was one of the things he had first noticed and loved about her. Swallowing hard, he continued.

"It was added that you were to live at Kellynch. And my commission from the Admiral is to say that if the family's wish is such, his lease at Kellynch shall be cancelled and he and my sister will provide themselves with another home. That is all."

There, he had said it. Instead of hearing about her engagement second-hand, when the distance might have provided at least some defense, he would now hear it confirmed from her own mouth. He was determined to accept it with dignity, if not grace, and then be gone as soon as possible, and so he drank in her features for the last time.

"What answer shall I give?"

She simply stood there, pale and bewildered, as though he had spoken some bizarre language. Then she looked to one side, trying to make sense of it all, and breathed out,

"Sir…"

Oh God, why would she not answer? Surely the news of her own engagement could not be a surprise to her? A simple yes would do, and then he could be on his way. Could she not see how this was torturing him?

Finally, she shook her head as though to clear it, and looked him full in the face, a curiously bemused smile on her lips. She spoke slowly, as if she were being very careful to choose exactly the right words.

"You will, please, thank the Admiral on my behalf, but I must tell you that he is utterly misinformed."

_Wait…what?_

His gaze snapped to her in an instant. His heart, which had until that instant felt choked and cracked, barely a hair's breadth from shattering again, suddenly leapt to life, an ember of hope beginning to burn. But he couldn't, daren't, hope that she was saying what he thought she was saying. Barely speaking above a whisper, he murmured,

"Misinformed? Utterly?"

Seeming quite intent on making sure he understood, she spoke very definitively,

"Yes, Captain. Quite mistaken."

The ember was fast becoming an inferno. No engagement… Anne was free… But there had to be some other explanation. Maybe not an engagement, perhaps, but an understanding, surely...

"No truth in any part of it?"

And this was the final draw. Anne was not given to prevarication or half-truths. If there was _anything_ between herself and Mr. Elliot, she would say so.

But yet again, she had no hesitation.

"None. And I should be grateful to know the source of such fanciful rumors."

Frederick half-smiled at that, though he felt like shouting for joy and sweeping her up in his arms and dancing around the room. At the same time, however, he didn't want to move a muscle, as though any action on his part would cause this wonderful moment to shatter. She was looking at him with the same hope and love in her eyes that he felt were shining out from his. Would she accept him again, if he asked? He'd been of a mind to restart things slowly between them, to give her time to forgive him, but at this moment, he wanted to grab his chance with both hands and never let go again.

_Say something, you idiot!_

His conscience was screaming at him to speak, to say _anything_ that would keep her here with him, so he decided the best way to do that was to answer her question. They could at least have a good laugh before moving on to protestations of undying love.

"As to that..."

And then his joyous bubble was burst. Mary Musgrove bustled into the room with barely a knock, and who was behind her but Lady Russell. Of all the people to appear at such a pivotal moment! The woman who, he was firmly convinced, had alone been responsible for Anne's defection and refusal eight years ago. Lovely.

For her part, Anne was instantly flustered at the intrusion, and their nearly-tangible connection evaporated. She awkwardly reintroduced him to Lady Russell, and though he was aware that he was acting rudely, he could only acknowledge her with an ice-cold, "How could I forget?"

Barely sparing him a glance and a nod, Lady Russell immediately turned to Anne, and Frederick knew that there was no possible way that he could declare anything right then. His best course of action was to bow out and rally his scattered thoughts. He had to come to Anne again, and soon, but what of Lady Russell? What could he possibly say to counteract whatever poison she no doubt poured in Anne's ear regarding himself?

"Ms. Elliot, if you'll excuse me, I shall convey your news to the Admiral. Good day."

And he left the room without a backwards glance. He was brooding on the sudden see-sawing nature of his luck as he made for the front door, when he heard her running behind and calling for him. Having no idea what he could possibly say to her now, he could not turn around. Fortunately he was saved, if that was the right word, by the arrival of Mrs. Musgrove and Henrietta at that very moment. Anne was instantly swamped by a bevy of twittering females, and he swiftly made his escape, half-cursing himself for taking the easy way out. But he had to think.

He made for his sister's lodgings, with the same determined stride he used on the deck of his ship. Once again his head was racing with strategies and recourses. He should have known better than to believe he could convey what he felt in his heart at a moment's notice. Give him a surprise attack from a French privateer, and he could instantly have the entire crew readying for battle with a plan fully formed before a shot was even fired. But finding the right words to express how precious and dear and _necessary_ Anne was to him needed far more careful consideration. The first time he had done so, he had been a green boy, hardly aware of what was coming out of his mouth. In retrospect, he was amazed she had accepted his proposal, as he was fairly sure that he had barely been coherent. Now, however, he simply couldn't take the chance of being misunderstood. But every time he faced her, he couldn't think straight. So how was he to make her understand? And avoid mangling his heart in the process, should she refuse him? Being rejected by Anne once had nearly killed him; he did not think he could survive it again.

_Quite the conundrum, eh, Freddy?_

His brother's amused tone in his head almost made him smile. Edward always did manage to state the obvious. Distractedly, he pondered that would have to write him soon…

And then it hit him.

_Of course!_

He doubled his pace. Hopefully Harville was still at the apartments, and wouldn't mind running a small errand for him…

**____________________________________________________________________________________**

_Yes, I know. It's a terrible place to stop. But that was the scene, and I really couldn't improve on what comes next, so I'll leave it here. Watch the movie if you want to see what happens!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Half Agony, Half Hope (Part 2)**

**Author:** Ana Sedai

**Author's Note: **Okay, I know I said I was leaving it there, but my muse absolutely refused to shut up. I need to put a gag on her, seriously. This is a continuation of the first part, and as before is based on the 2007 film version of _Persuasion._ But since we never actually saw Captain Wentworth during Anne's marathon dash through Bath, I'm taking a bit of artistic license with events.

And I beg of you, no matter what you think of the story (good, bad, crap, _whatever_), please feel free to comment. It's very difficult for an author to improve her writing when she doesn't know what she needs to work on. Thank you.

**Disclaimer: **See previous. Don't own, never will. Please don't sue.

* * *

Frederick had never been particularly good with words. Oh, he could frame compliments to ladies easily enough, was able to keep the ship's log concise yet accurate, and had even been known on occasion to tell fairly entertaining stories. But pouring his heart out onto a piece of paper was proving to be more of a challenge than he had hoped, and he couldn't help but think that maybe taking a page from Benwick's book, so to speak, and communing with a few poetry collections every once in awhile, would not have been a bad idea.

_How on Earth do women do this?_

In frustration he crumpled the third letter he had attempted to write in as many minutes. This was hopeless. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to slow his racing thoughts so that he could put them into some semblance of order.

_Remember what happens when you overthink things, my boy. Instinct can save a man who trusts himself, while those who do not often lose their chance._

Again, Admiral Croft's voice echoed in his head. They had been discussing battle tactics at the time, but it certainly seemed appropriate to his current situation. He needed to follow his instincts, then. How hard could that be? Certainly not nearly as hard as he was making it out to be.

He finally gave up on trying to be elegant and simply let his heart guide the pen. The words came faster, though certainly more unguardedly, and he knew he would be embarrassed to write as he had were he in a more temperate frame of mind. But he wrote as he felt, and now was not the time for half-measures.

"_You pierce my soul…"_

* * *

Captain Harville had seen the desperation on Wentworth's face when he had made his request to deliver his letter to Miss Elliot, and had readily agreed to act as messenger. Never had he seen his friend so out of sorts, and he earnestly hoped that there would be a good end to all this heartache. Wentworth was one of the best men he had ever known, and though he did not know Anne Elliot as well as he might have wished, she had seemed, during their brief acquaintance, to be a most intelligent and discerning young woman, with a gentle, caring nature. It was easy to see how these two worthy souls had formed a bond strong enough to withstand time, disappointment, and even foolish pride.

That did not, however, appear to be giving his friend much comfort right now. Harville had never seen him so uncertain of himself.

"Wentworth, really, I think you're over-anxious to no good purpose. You have obviously done your best, and now all that you can do is await the lady's answer. Go spend the afternoon with your sister and the Admiral. I'll deliver the letter, and you can call on her later to discern her feelings."

Wentworth sighed and rose from his chair. "You're right, of course, Harville. But the thought of her possibly saying no, refusing me again…I don't know what I should do with myself."

"And that is precisely why you should provide yourself with a distraction until such time as her answer can be known to you. It does no good to borrow trouble before you need to, as you'll just pay extra interest later."

Wentworth shot a glare his way. "I pray you don't take it into your head to become a pamphleteer. That was pure rubbish."

Harville grinned. "I was not the one who said that first. It was my aunt Letitia. She always was a good one for a turn of phrase."

Wentworth rolled his eyes and made for the door. "I'll give Sophie and the Admiral your regards. Thank you again, Harville. Whatever happens, I am in your debt."

"Not at all, my dear chap. I have always been somewhat of a romantic. Just don't tell anyone at the Admiralty, will you?" Harville gave an encouraging smile. Wentworth nodded once, then strode off out the door and down the street with his head high and shoulders back, as if he were marching toward his own execution.

Harville shook his head in consternation.

_Anne Elliot will no more turn down a proposal from that man than a fish will sprout wings and fly._

Now, to deliver the letter. He had to do so quickly, as he was scheduled to meet with an old shipmate very soon.

_How far is it to Camden Place, then?_

He had just finished putting on his hat and gloves and was just about to open the front door and step out, when he heard the knock. Slightly surprised, as neither Wentworth nor his sister had mentioned any expected callers, he opened the door.

And saw Anne Elliot standing on the stoop, looking slightly winded and out of sorts. Not to mention very surprised to see him.

"Captain Harville?"

Well, this was a bit of a turn-up.

Harville thought very fast. He didn't think Wentworth would appreciate his giving Miss Elliot any indication that he was aware of what had transpired between them, and he _certainly_ wouldn't appreciate Harville's giving any hints about the content of his letter. His best recourse would be to be as nondescript about it as possible. And in all fairness, he was grateful she had come. He was already late for his meeting.

"Miss Elliot, if you have come to call on the Admiral and Mrs. Croft, I must disappoint you. They went to take the waters with Captain Wentworth."

Which was true, mostly. He exited the apartment and started down the front stairs, Miss Elliot at his side. He nonchalantly handed her Wentworth's letter.

"But since you are here, you may save me some time. Captain Wentworth bade me bring this note to you in Camden Place. Perhaps you will take it now?"

She took it slowly and stared at it, seemingly dumbfounded. And not a little frightened, if he was any judge.

"Thank you."

She was grateful, but still very concerned. He decided it wasn't too much of an imposition to ask after her health.

"Are you quite well, Miss Elliot?"

She didn't answer directly, but thanked him again, obviously distracted. He was tempted to reassure her, but determined it was not his place. Hopefully all her fears would be allayed soon. And she would not thank him for delaying her opening the note any longer than necessary.

"Then if you'll excuse me, I'm already late for an appointment."

He tipped his hat and began to make his way toward his shipmate's apartments, hoping that he wasn't making a mistake by leaving her alone.

_If Wentworth doesn't tell me tonight how this has turned out, I will not be responsible for my actions!_

* * *

Frederick had tried. He really had. He had met Sophie and Admiral Croft at the bathhouse as he had promised, but after a few minutes he had realized he was no fit company. Sophie had asked him three times if he was feeling ill, and while he had reassured them he was quite well, the truth was that he felt wretched.

_What was her reaction? What is she thinking? Is there anything else I could have said that would make my intentions more clear?_

And why on Earth had he told Harville to deliver that blasted note? It was cowardice, plain and simple. And now he was paying for it. Had he given her the note himself, he could at least have been in receipt of an answer straightaway, rather than suffering through this waiting. The fact that he knew it was his own fault, and that he was sulking, did not help matters.

Realizing that the only way he could be passably easy in his thoughts was to go and inquire after Anne, he bade Sophie and the Admiral a good afternoon and promised he would return to the apartments for supper. As she still had not had an opportunity to question him about his behavior at the concert the night before, Sophie had given him a sharp look and replied that she certainly expected him there.

Rather than call a carriage, Frederick decided to walk. He needed the activity. Turning over every possible variation of Anne's reaction to the letter in his mind, Frederick made his way back to Camden Place. He was expecting a few arched eyebrows at returning so soon after his less than polite exit, but honestly he couldn't care less.

Finally he was there. He walked up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles on the door. Mentally rehearsing how to most quickly get Anne alone again, he squared his shoulders when the door was opened by the footman.

"Is Miss Anne Elliot at home?"

He had several plausible excuses ready in case he was questioned, but the wind abruptly left his sails when the dour footman replied that Miss Anne had left the house quite abruptly not long ago, and would Sir like to leave his calling card for when she returned?

Feeling dejected and not a little irritated, Frederick was about to stomp back down the stairs and walk off some more frustration. However before he could do so, he heard Charles Musgrove's continually cheerful voice echo from the hall.

"Wentworth, old chap? That you again? Well, luck is with me today. I need your advice on a very delicate matter."

Charles hurried out the door, clearly in a rush, and hustled Frederick down the front steps onto the walkway next to the street. Frederick had no idea what was so all-fired important that Charles needed to ask him for advice this instant, but he was in no mood for pleasantries at the moment. Whatever it was could wait. He was getting ready to make his excuses to Charles, when all of a sudden both of them were jostled very abruptly.

Seeing no one at eye level, Frederick automatically looked down. And he saw Her.

Anne was out of breath, gasping for air, sweat running down her temples. She looked like she could not get a word out of her mouth if she tried. Her eyes were running over his face like she was dying of thirst and he was an oasis of fresh water.

And his note was open in her hand.

And all of a sudden Frederick wouldn't have noticed if an invading army was marching through the streets. He saw only her, heard only her breathing. He vaguely noticed that Charles was asking about her wellbeing, then he began going on about some gun that he _must_ go see about at once. Charles finally departed and Frederick and Anne were alone, eyes still locked on each other.

For a moment neither said a word, Anne because she couldn't, and Frederick because he honestly had no idea what to say. That was a disturbingly common occurrence around this woman, come to think of it.

"Captain?"

She looked so hopeful, so beautiful, and Frederick prayed to every deity he could think of (he thought God would understand his desperation) that his hopes were not in vain.

"I am in receipt of your proposal, and am of a mind to accept it. Thank you."

For the second time that day, Frederick felt his heart start to burn brighter than it had in almost nine years. His face felt like a bright light was shining out of it.

_She is accepting me?_

He had to make sure, absolutely sure. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Harville he didn't know what he would do if she left him again.

"Are you…quite certain?"

She smiled at him, and he hadn't seen anything of beauty to compare with her smile in the whole of his many travels.

"I am. I am determined. I will. And nothing, you may be sure, will ever persuade me otherwise."

For a moment, it was as though the world had gone silent.

_So is this perfect happiness, then?_

He saw it all, in one brilliant instant. Their marriage, their home, their children. He felt as though he could see the rest of their lives spread out before him, and everything was perfectly clear. Then in the next instant, the vision faded, and all he could see was Anne's beautiful face looking up at him, one solitary tear trailing down. And he knew she had seen the same thing.

_Yes, my love, this is perfect happiness._

Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his head to meet her lips. And then there was nothing but his breath, and hers, and theirs.

Together.

THE END

(Seriously, this time I mean it.)


End file.
